


just once? (#2)

by bluecarrot



Series: tumblr tumblr tumblr prompts!!! [12]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Everyone is awful, Hamburr, I Blame Tumblr, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Soulmates, Tags Contain Spoilers, Tumblr Prompt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-11
Updated: 2018-05-17
Packaged: 2018-08-14 07:13:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,395
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8003254
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluecarrot/pseuds/bluecarrot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>a soulmate-tattoo AU per a tumblr request: "just once".</p><p>HamBurr is my life and my soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [holograms](https://archiveofourown.org/users/holograms/gifts).



> 9/11/16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written 9/10/16.

Everything was unsettled; the night and the winds were  _waiting_  somehow and his coffee felt strange against his teeth and his roommate picked an argument over nothing and his skin felt too tight, like he needed to scratch it off.

Sex, Alex thought. Sex would help.

Or booze.

And that was a better idea, safer. No more romantic-or-otherwise entanglements; he wanted to be alone.

So he took one of the few empty stools and ordered a draft and drank and watched out of the corner of his eye as the man next to him peeled the label from a bottle in long, curling strips.

Riiiiip.

Riiiiiiiiiiiiip.

It was _maddening._

Alex turned to give a full-on glare and the guy looked up -- he had arresting eyes -- or maybe that was an affect of the bar, its mix of neon and mirrors and the blue haze of cigarette smoke rising from a dozen pairs of hands.

The man didn't bother to talk. He took another drink and rubbed the pad of his thumb along the lip of the bottle, patiently, like he was waiting for it to confess, and peeled off another piece of label, and if he did it one more time, Alex was going to punch him in the face.

So he stretched out an arm, palm up. "Hamilton."

"Pardon?" 

"My name's Hamilton."

The man looked down -- at Alex's hand, outstretched -- at the few inches of skin escaping from beneath his sleeve, and the tattoo visible there. His mouth opened and shut and (it was amazing) he visibly gathered up his self-control. "George Washington. And no jokes about the name, please." 

They shook hands.

Alex jerked away. It felt he'd stuck a fork in an electrical socket. "Do you carry magnets in your pockets?"

"What?"

"Didn't you _feel_ that?"

"Nope." Washington took another drink. "Nice tattoo, by the way. It's funny; I thought only susceptible teenagers took those _who-is-your-soulmate_ tests."

"I confess," said Alex, "to having once being a susceptible teenager." He had other things to confess, like _I have others; would you like to see?_ but this wasn't the time or place. (What was  _wrong_ with him tonight?) 

And it was a stupid reaction, anyway. Hormones in overdrive. He should be more reticent; he should be controlled; he should learn someone's middle name before he offered to taste their uglies ... 

Washington was going on. "So you never met her, I take it. Or him. This _A Burr,_ " with a roll of the _R_.

"Nope."

"Fascinating." He didn't sound fascinated. He sounded bored. He sounded like he was barely willing to make conversation. 

"I'm not that much into it anymore. It really is a teenage thing. You know? The idea there's one perfect person out there, to fill all your needs -- "

"If _that's_ your idea about it ..."

"Well," said annoyed Alexander, "what's yours?"

"My soulmate? I never bothered to find out." Something strange in his voice.

And he'd gone back to peeling the label, looking distracted.

Alex grabbed the bottle away. "Stop that. It's annoying as hell. No, I meant your  _idea_. Since you know so much."

A scowling Washington took back his bottle. "I am in fact quite intelligent, Hamilton. And clever. Which you'd know by now if you were paying attention. Anyway. A soulmate has nothing to do with perfect love and perfect trust; it's about completion, about symmetry, about --"

"Finishing each other's sentences?"

"Are you _incapable_ of politeness, or are you simply discarding social conventions?

"Discarding," said Alex, and kissed him.

His mouth was buzzing -- or had he swallowed glitter -- or was it lightning --

Washington stood up and for a second Alex thought he was going to be punched or worse but he only started digging in his pockets for change, looking far more disheveled than a single kiss should make anyone. "I need to go."

"Wait." Alex found a twenty and tossed it on the bar. "I got this. I covered it. Hey.  _Wait."_

But he moved faster, he was out the door and halfway down the street before Alex caught up with him, grabbing his arm, swearing at him

_Wait wait wait_

The man snapped -- "Leave me be, Alexander --"

Alex went cold. He couldn't feel his fingers digging into sleeve and flesh; he couldn't feel anything but a slow, deep shaking. 

_Burr._

He knew it like he knew his own mind, his private quiet dreams, and he couldn't lose him yet -- not yet -- 

Wait. _Wait_.

"No," he said. "Burr,  _no._ I don't care what your name is -- Adam or Adrian or Anthony --"

"Aaron," said the figure in the dark. "Good to meet you, Alex. Goodbye."

And he was gone.

For a long time Alex stood, angry and glad and craving too much, still feeling the fairy-dust of the kiss.

So, he thought. So. Burr was running away? He thought this was a temporary thing, just once? 

Alex doubted that.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written 9/11/16.

* * *

Months later.

Alexander, coming home after a weekend away, stopped by a random grocery store -- just for a few things, just to tide him over for the night -- and stopped empty-handed to stare.

Burr was second in line.

Strange to see him like this, doing anything commonplace and normal -- strange to see him _at all,_ after the weeks and nights Alex had spent trying to convince himself their meeting was a dream, a hallucination, anything false and trivial.

The signature on his wrist taunted him. _A Burr._ It was neat, it was assured, it gave away nothing -- even to the anonymity of the given name.

It didn't matter. He knew it now. He moved forward steadily -- an alley cat stalking prey. 

 _Aaron_.

His head was down. He was doing something on his phone, absorbed. And he was trapped, really; the customer at the till had a dozen-dozen coupons, none of which wanted to scan easily.

Better and better. 

Alex rose on his tiptoes and breathed hot on that long, beautifully-exposed curve of neck. He wanted to lick it, to taste it, to make him shiver and gasp and -- "Hello there."

The full-body start Burr gave was deeply satisfying; his fluid swearing, directed specifically at Hamilton's appearance and manners, was less so.

"Sorry," said Alexander, not sorry at all. "I figured you'd run away again if I announced my presence first."

"Again? I did not -- I do not _run away_. Why are you here?"

"Shopping, my dear."

"Don't call me that. You know what I mean."

Alex, who could still smell the heat and spice of Burr's skin, only shrugged. "Maybe I think we should get to know each other a little."

The cashier, looking flustered, called for a supervisor.

Burr said something under his breath.

Alex smiled at him. "What was that?"

"I said you're a useless shit."

"And what does that make you, Aaron? If I am your -- how did you say it before -- your balance, your completion --"

Burr hissed. "Shut. Up."

"Embarrassed? How unfortunate for you, Mr. Burr, to feel shy about something this _natural_. We could always go somewhere more _private_ to talk about this a little, if you'd --"

"Fine. Yes. Just be quiet _."_

His agreement was so unexpected that Alex really did fall silent; and then, blessedly, another cashier called them over to be checked out.

 

They ended up at Burr's place. ("I'm sure your surroundings are as cluttered and messy as your mind. Come on. It's not far. And stop looking at things on the ground, will you?")

Burr's apartment was of course tidy and clean and decidedly neutral; it was hard to get any impression of him, except that he didn't want to leave an impression.

"Nice place," said Alex, feeling like a snob. "Why am I not surprised that you're into minimalism?"

Burr tossed his keys on a table. "Why am I not surprised that you're _still talking?_ "

"What would you rather I do?" The tension in his gut again; his heart in his throat again; the dead-weight of lust in his belly.

He rubbed at his wrist. "Nothing. Sit down."

"No. Aaron, stop -- stop whatever this fighting is that you're doing. Didn't you think about this, in the last couple of months? Didn't you realize that if you're my _completion,_ then I'm yours? That we must be well-matched?" He stepped closer.

Burr was staring at him, gaze narrowed, as unreadable as ever.

"I'm not stupid, Burr. I'm as smart as you are, as smart as you think you are ... You knew my first name. How did you know that?"

"It doesn't matter."

Sympathetic nod; he took another step. "It's itching you, right? Mine, too."

" _Shut up._ "

Alex shook his head. "Are you going to tell me to stop talking every time I'm saying something you don't want to hear? This is going to be a very tedious relationship."

"Relationship," Burr growled, looking mutinous. "I have no interest in being in a _relationship_ with you."

"Too late," said Alex, a little breathless. They were very near now. "Why are you so against it? All of this? Why did you go and find out my name if you didn't want to find me?"

Something flickered in those fine eyes -- and Alex, who had been waiting for a good moment to kiss him again _(kiss him and push him down on the floor and make him regret the night he walked away and left Alex alone on a street corner, heavy and hot and angry)_ \-- suddenly he wasn't even able to move.

He wanted more. Not want sex (not only sex) -- no,  _this_  was the real intrigue, this was the mystery -- he was desperate to take him apart, to undo and dissect the layers of Burr, peel him open and taste him -- he wanted to _understand_ \--

Maybe Burr saw that in his face. Because he leaned forward and kissed Alex, hard -- and he moved with him when he gasped -- and he knotted his hands in his hair and pulled -- and there was something complicated and lovely about his tongue and his teeth, and his hands moved down low and then it was impossible to think about anything at all.

 

Shouldn't the room be on fire? Shouldn't the walls collapse? How was it only him -- only _them_ \--

He couldn't catch his breath and every time he tried to speak Burr kissed him and that electricity, those sparks, rose up and he was lost again, mad again. His sweat dripped in his eyes. And when Alexander, who did not enjoy pain, ran light fingertips down that new expanse of skin, he felt rather than saw the reaction -- _felt_  in his stomach and his chest, in the places knowledge lives -- a door opening, _yes_

So he dug in his nails and Burr  shut his eyes, he lost that calculating expression, and Alexander --

 

Alex was in love.

No. He wasn't. He couldn't be. It was too soon (even, he thought, even considering everything -- he'd pressed his mouth against Burr's tattoo, _Alexander Hamilton_ in a deft familiar scrawl and yes  _yes_ it was all salt and sunshine, it was Nevis, it was _home,_  he almost cried -- except Burr was licking at his own name on Alex's wrist and he couldn't just come out and ask him what he tasted there, could he?)

\-- _Could_ he?

God, god, how could they be still so far apart? Because he saw considerations and decisions in Burr's face; he wasn't smiling, even now. 

And he hadn't laughed. Not once. Alex thought sex was quite funny and he liked his partners to enjoy themselves too, but Burr's pleasure was grim and silent. Why wouldn't he _speak?_ "I'm never going to understand you."

"Why does that surprise you?"

"I expected it to be easy."

Aaron's eyes were very dark. "You would."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means I learned your name so I could stay away from you. It means my life has been hell -- so yours must have been simple. Balance."

" _Simple?_ Are you serious?" But he was hurt -- hurt; he couldn't laugh this off. "Why would you try to stay alone?"

Burr was considering his answer, he was ready to speak -- and the door rattled. Someone was going to come in.

Alex clutched at the blanket. "Who is that?"

"That would be my wife," said Burr; and then, looking at Alex's face, he finally started to laugh.


	3. Theodosia Speaks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which Theodosia, Aaron, and Alex sit down together for a NICE LITTLE CHAT that is NOT AT ALL AWKWARD

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written 9/12/16.

Theodosia Burr was arresting, rather than beautiful; she had a cool presence that complimented Burr's own icy demeanor, and even in stillness her hands were graceful.

They'd shared a bottle of wine. Theo drank down her portion and the men left theirs untouched.

Burr was back to restlessly peeling strips from the label.

Alex was back to wanting to punch him -- for more reasons than one. "I don't understand. Aren't you -- upset?" _Jealous,_ he wanted to say. _Angry_. He'd expected her to be angry. And it had taken her a moment to collect herself -- but then, as her husband spoke, she had smiled with real amusement.

She said now: "Should I be upset? Over what? A few minutes of fumbling in a dark corner?"

"I'm his soulmate," Alex said, with an attempt at certainty. His tattoo was still itching, the nerves aggravated, like it was hungry for Burr's mouth, for the quick hot pass of his tongue. 

So was Alex.

He shifted in his chair.

There was not even a flicker of interest in her expression. "Yes, I've seen your name on him. What about it?"

"Doesn't it _mean_ anything to you?"

In the silence, they clearly heard Burr slowly pull off another long section of paper.

Theodosia reached over and took the bottle away from him. "You need a new hobby. Try something that's _quiet_."

" _You_ need to behave yourself," he told her.

She laughed at him. "Take your own advice."

And they were smiling at each other -- really smiling -- dropping the impatience and severity.

Alex wanted to die. "Mrs Burr --"

"Mr Hamilton," she said. "Please don't misjudge me. I'm sure this is a momentous occasion in your life. I don't mean to disrespect you by speaking the plain truth. Please believe me when I tell you that whatever name is on you, or on him, it doesn't matter. Even when --" She stopped herself, exchanged a look with Burr, and went on in an apparently different vein: "A relationship between the two of you would be a mistake."

"He wants me."

She shrugged -- a delicate movement of her shoulders. "As I said, it really doesn't matter ... you seem to be under the delusion that fate is somehow benevolent. Or trustworthy."

"No, I --"

"It sets the wheel in motion. That's all. You can choose to step off." She tugged up the sleeve of her dress, twisted around her wrist to show him there was no signature there. Whether she was never tested or whether she had no one waiting on her, there was no way of knowing.

"We make our choices. That's the one thing we all get, Mr. Hamilton -- fate or no fate. You can choose to run after Aaron if you like, but he's been running away from you for a long, long time, and he's very good at it ... Whatever you will have with him -- whatever you might have -- it would be terrible. Painful. And beautiful. Yes. But it would break you down to your essentials. You look stubborn; you look like you think it would be worthwhile. Maybe so. Maybe not .. And here's the other thing, Mr Hamilton: my husband loves me. He does not love you."

She said this last without looking at Burr for confirmation; it was offered up as fact, immutable as sunrise. "Our love has teeth and claws, we suffer for it ... so what do you think he would do to you? 

And he'd thought Burr was merciless. He stood. "Mrs Burr -- Aaron -- Thank you for the drink. And the conversation." He wanted to say something more, he wanted to say something sharp and clear and cutting, but Theodosia had stolen all his words away and Burr, goddamn him, he hadn't even lifted up his eyes in several minutes.

He gathered his things; he left.

 

The door latched and locked.

Theo said: "Poor boy. He looked really hurt."

"He'll get over it. And then he'll come back for more. He's the sort that needs to feel the whip again and again before he understands who holds it."

"You want him."

"I want lots of things." He took her hand and kissed the upturned palm, lingered on the underside of her wrist where his name ought to be. "You are too good to me."

"That's certainly true," she said. "I _ought_ to beat you. How dare you bring that man to our home!"

"I know. I'm sorry. But listen. His tattoo -- my name? Theo, it tasted like you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theodosia Prevost has always seemed to me something like an avenging angel: justice, not mercy.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written 16 October 2016.

They meet, of course, again. 

Alex knows enough not to ask questions this time. 

Burr doesn’t even bother to speak.

He undresses Alex with calm efficiency, pushes him down on the bed, and undresses himself.

 

Afterwards they are silent together, unmoving. And: "Theo is dying,“ says Burr.

Alex sits upright. _"What?”_ (Something blooms bright and hot and craving in his chest, some sort of hope, something raw and hungry and cruel –)

“That isn’t a proposal of anything,” says Burr. He sounds tired. “It’s not a confession. I’m never going to be with you.”

\-- but he is there now.

–- and his eyes are closed and his face is soft and when Alex, unable to stop himself now (as he has always been unable to stop himself, when will he learn) when Alex presses his mouth against Burr’s mouth, against his shut eyelids, against the damp streaks left behind by tears, -– Alex knows enough not to speak; he takes Burr’s head in both of his hands and kisses him, for once without greed, without wanting anything at all. 

He finds a blanket and covers them both and rubs the back of Burr’s head in a manner meant to be soothing; he waits for the moment when Burr will remember who they are, when he hates him again.

It doesn’t come.

The light changes; it’s gloaming now, lit up by passing headlights and a streetlamp that flickers and catches and stays, and now it is fully night.

“I’m sorry,” says Alex, and somewhere between the two words he finds himself meaning it. He didn’t intend to mean it. He wanted to lie. He doesn’t want to sympathize.

“I’m sorry,” says Burr.

Alex recoils, he thinks Burr is mocking him, twisting his words, and it's so unthinkably cruel that he wants to _die,_ and it’s unlike anything he’s ever wanted before: he doesn’t see a way out of this pain, he doesn’t see anything better on the other side of it, he doesn’t see another side at all. He cannot imagine any sort of compensation.

Burr rubs his face. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. All of this – this is such a mess. You’re here, and – and I’m being terrible. I’m the worst sort of soulmate. Married,” he says, “and in love with her.”

He neglected to mention being a heartless asshole. “Did you know – about me – when you married her? Did she care?”

Burr doesn’t reply and doesn’t reply and doesn’t reply, and just when Alex is giving up, he’s ready to get up and find his clothes and leave, Burr says “I’ve known about you since I was fourteen.”

“What? But they don’t let you test until –”

“It wasn’t exactly legal.” He smiles. "I was young. I thought it was a good idea." His smile falls away. It was not a good idea.”

_Fourteen._  Alex tries to remember himself at fourteen.

The sound of wind; wooden boards breaking.

The smell of loss.

“You’re a hole in my life,” says Burr, speaking to his own hands. “You always have been. I thought I could fill it up. And I met Theodosia, and I thought – she’s a window – she let in light. Sunlight. And everything changed, everything. Except you. Wanting you. Hating you. That hasn’t changed.”

Burr doesn’t _want_ him, hasn’t ever wanted him, how can Alex bear it – how can he keep on – he says, "I love you.”

Burr says: “Meeting you is the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.”

“I want you."

“You can’t have me.”

“I have you now.”

“You don’t.”

“Please don’t leave me again,” says Alex: and Burr shuts his eyes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello. i found this tucked away in my tumblr archives.  
> there's a lot of junk in there.

**Author's Note:**

> Alex's signature was indeed "Alexander Hamilton"
> 
> while Burr signed his letters, even to his family, "A. Burr."
> 
> *
> 
> scorn and shame me @littledeconstruction  
> over on tumblr


End file.
